Sound Reasoning

Strangely, the bells were silent that morning.
Deacon John, a Quasimodo wannabe, would
always ring the bells.  Feisty in his five-foot
stature, rotund face, white hair and beard;
a hirsute countenance of snowy steel
wool applied by Mother Nature
slowly over time. 

Deacon John looked at me as I arrived
at nine, eyed me narrowly, and said
with a voice as smooth as Shea
Butter, “Call me John.” 

“No bells today?” I put it
to him, easy like Sunday
morning. 

Then Quasimodo John looked up like
he swallowed canaries, grinned as if
he had received lechery lessons all
night long, and with a twinkle in
blue eyes, offered one stalwart
“HA,” and pointed at the rope, 
of which he had secured with
cinder blocks—four of them.
Heavy as a parishioner’s
sin, weights in the
church foyer. 

“What is it, my dear John?”
I sincerely asked, both
puzzled and amused. 

So Deacon John motored on over,
shuffling upon recently refinished
hardwood, sporting size seven
brown boots in dire need of
fixing.  John then sighed
and glumly announced:
“No Edgar Allan Poe
today. There will be
no tintinnabulation*
of any bells.”
“That hurts
  my ears.”


40 Lines 
Writer’s Cramp 
12-9-17
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*Tintinnabulation is the lingering sound of a ringing bell that occurs
  after the bell has been struck. This word was  invented by Edgar 
  Allan Poe as used in the first stanza of his poem, The Bells.